


Flight of the Baby-Bees

by PhoenixPhoether



Series: Flight Plan [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Babies, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixPhoether/pseuds/PhoenixPhoether
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's in a mood and Draco doesn't understand it. When Harry asks Draco to leave, Draco must figure out how to make things right. Meanwhile, Kreacher's shirking his duties, Ginny's vomiting, and everyone just keeps blaming Draco. What choice does he have but to ask Hermione for help?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight of the Baby-Bees

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third part of the "Flight Plan" series. I just couldn't leave them alone, though I'll bet they wish I would. I'm pretty sure this is the last one, but you never know.
> 
> I own nothing but the strange little plots that occur to me late at night. I don't get paid for this.
> 
> Additional warnings on this story are for pregnant house-elves, chatty children, bad poetry, swearing, sex, and Harry being stupid (because honestly, does anyone really think he wouldn't have some major daddy issues?).

Draco could always tell what sort of mood Harry was in by the type of music he was listening to. He'd never quite gotten used to Harry's obsession with strange Muggle music, but it was useful for knowing how he should proceed when he arrived home.

Over time, whenever Harry's mood was sour, Draco had become accustomed to hearing all manner of what he privately referred to as Symphonic Angst. There was Frustrated Russian, Vengeful German, Afflicted Italian, and even the occasional Distressed French. This time, however, he didn't recognise the style. It was rather aggressive, and the woman sounded like she was being tortured in an unfamiliar language. This did not bode well, particularly considering that the only reason Harry was home was that he’d taken the day off from work because Draco was returning home.

He closed the door quietly behind him and slipped up the stairs, leaving his bag to deal with later; speed and silence were more important at the moment. He breathed a sigh of relief when he made it to the bedroom unnoticed. He wasn't sure where Harry was, but until he had a plan, he wasn't about to go looking.

The problem was, he needed to bring up a rather touchy subject. If only he could devise a strategy to—

“Draco?”

 _Shit_. Draco groaned and put his head in his hands. There was nothing for it; he would have show himself. He walked slowly to the door and opened it.

“In here!” he called.

He heard footsteps, and then Harry was at the door. Before he quite registered what was happening, he found himself the recipient of an armful of Harry and an assertive, heated snog.

Draco did some quick thinking before getting pulled in too far. It had been two weeks since they'd seen each other, and he desperately wanted what would normally follow such a welcome. A Harry-working-out-his-inner-turmoil was always quite a lot of fun in bed, even if Draco sometimes had to sacrifice his good clothes in exchange. Besides, Harry was likely to be calmer and significantly more compliant afterwards. Draco decided to go with it.

They never even made it to the bed. Draco kissed back, matching Harry's aggressive passion. In what seemed like one fluid motion, Harry had Draco backed up against the wall and his trousers and pants down. He kept one hand firmly on Draco's chest—not that Draco would have moved anyway—while he swiftly freed himself from his own clothes.

Within a minute, they were shamelessly rutting against each other like hormone-addled adolescents. It wasn't going to take long; Draco could already feel his spine beginning to prickle.  Despite his preference to be in control, there was something so beautifully erotic about Harry when he took charge like this.  They moved together toward resolution, reaching into the tension and spilling against one another.

The stood still for a moment, panting, Harry's head resting on Draco's shoulder.  When they had sufficiently recovered, Harry summoned a couple of soft towels.  Draco was torn.  He thought maybe they should stop, especially given his impending request.  On the other hand, this was his favourite part.  The way Harry would clean them both, gently and sensually, often led to renewed arousal and another go.

Sure enough, they went from kissing lightly while they rubbed each other with the towels to increasingly erotic touches.  They shed the rest of their clothing. Draco pulled Harry into the bed, where they continued where they'd left off until they lay in a boneless, tangled heap, gasping but sated.

Draco would have liked nothing better than to settle in for a bit, but Harry startled him out of his drowsiness by saying, “We should go have some lunch.”

“Lunch?” He blinked sleepily then frowned. It wasn't like Harry to get up right away.

“Yeah. I put it under a stasis charm, but it's all ready down in the kitchen.”

“ _You_ cooked? Why didn't Kreacher do it?”

Harry huffed. “He's nesting.”

 _Right. Um_...“Nesting?”

“Tinka's become rather demanding lately. She's due in less than two weeks now, and she's been really putting Kreacher through it.”

Of course. Pregnant elves were notoriously bossy, particularly toward the end. Draco felt a pang of sympathy for Kreacher. It certainly explained Harry's earlier bad mood—he'd probably been responsible for most of Kreacher's usual tasks.

“All right, then.” Draco swallowed. It was now or never. “Before we go, there's something I wanted to ask you.” He sat up.

“Anything,” Harry said. He was already standing by the bed, pulling his clothes on. He set his glasses back in place.

“I'm going to visit my parents at the weekend.” Draco tried to make his voice casual.  He looked up at Harry. “I'd like you to come with me.”

Harry just stared at him. The silence stretched on so long that it was almost painful. At last Harry said, “You're not serious.”

“Of course I am.”

“We’ve been over this before. No way. You can just forget it.”

“I suppose that means I'm off the hook visiting any of your people, then,” Draco shot back. This was an old argument, and he couldn't help feeling irritable, particularly as he had a good reason for wanting Harry there this time. He stood up and began yanking on his clothes. “You're never willing to go with me, though I've been 'round to see your lot loads of times.”

“Oh, well, my reason for not wanting to see your father couldn't possibly have anything to do with the fact that he tried to kill me last time I saw him, could it?” Harry folded his arms and glared. “I don't recall any of _my lot_ ”—he made quotation marks with his fingers—“doing the same to you.”

Draco winced; he'd forgotten how much Harry hated that phrase. “That was years ago!”

Harry's mouth fell open. “How could you say that?” He lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “I was a child. I was fifteen.”

Draco recoiled. He had forgotten that they'd only been boys back then. He was going to say his father wasn't the same person, but he realised that it was both unhelpful and probably untrue. “My mother would like to see you,” he tried.

“Then we can go see her when _he's_ not there. Sort of like when you come with me to see Molly.”

Thus far, that was how they'd always handled it.  From Draco's point of view, Arthur Weasley was an unknown quantity.  He'd been nervous about meeting the senior Weasleys, unsure how they would take his presence. The younger ones all seemed to tolerate him, and he even quite liked one or two of them now. But their parents and his had some unfortunate history.

Molly had indeed seemed suspicious at first. What broke the tension, however, was Draco's expression of gratitude at Molly's vanquishing of his dear Aunt Bella. “NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!” would be burned into his memory for the rest of his life. Absolutely nothing in him had been sorry to see the evil hag go.  He'd had yet to meet Arthur face-to-face, though, and he felt that his reasoning was entirely valid—even if Harry didn't agree.

Draco took a deep breath. “If you come with me to see my parents, I promise I'll visit when the elder Weasel...ly is home.” He thought this was rather generous.

He waited for Harry's answer to his offer, but it never arrived. Instead, an expensive vase exploded on a shelf behind Draco's head.

“What the hell, Potter?” he exclaimed, jumping aside about two feet.

Harry didn't answer. His arms hung at his sides, his hands balled into fists. His whole body looked tense, as though he were concentrating particularly hard. Draco realised Harry was trying not to shatter anything else, and he softened.

“Harry—”

“Go,” Harry muttered through gritted teeth.

“What?”

“Get out. Please. Before I hurt you.”

“Wait, what? _Why_?”

The bedside lamp cracked.

“I can't do this anymore, this arguing,” Harry whispered, strain showing on his face. “Please. Just...go.”

“I—” Draco hesitated. “Are you saying...is this it?”  He was baffled by Harry's odd behaviour and the way he had so rapidly spiralled into such a state.

Harry was shaking now, and there was raw emotion pouring off him. Draco tried to reach out for him, but Harry shook off his touch.

“Get out,” he said, low and threatening.

That was it. Draco turned and fled down the stairs and out the door, grabbing the bag he'd forgotten about on his way. When he was clear of the steps, he turned around to face the place where he knew the house stood, though he couldn't see it anymore.

He turned on the spot, Apparating to the first place that came to mind.

 

* * *

The Hog's Head lunch crowd was thinner than Draco had expected. He stepped across to the bar, where Blaise was chatting animatedly with an elderly man Draco recognised as one of the regulars. When Blaise glanced up and saw Draco, surprise flickered across his face.

“I need to speak to you,” Draco said.

“All right. Give me a moment.” He passed a glass of something blue and smoking to the man at the bar, then stepped over to the young woman who was wiping down the top with a cloth. He said something Draco couldn't hear before coming out from behind to join Draco.

“My office?” he suggested.

When they were inside, Blaise commented, “I didn't know you were going to be in town. You should've owled—I'd have taken the day.”

“It wasn't planned.” Draco paused. “I need a room.”

Blaise frowned. “Why don't you just stay at Harry's summer place?”

Draco sighed. “I don't—I don't think he'd appreciate that right now.”

“What's the matter? You two have a row?”

“Something like that.” Draco swallowed. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he hadn't been given an invitation to return. They'd argued before—with their history, it was inevitable—but Harry had never asked him to leave. Draco didn't really know how to explain it to Blaise.

“Fair enough,” Blaise said. “Sometimes it's good to cool down. I'll set you up.” He grabbed a set of keys and handed them to Draco. As he passed them, he seemed to be scrutinising Draco's face for some sign. “There's something you're not telling me.”

“I don't know what it is myself, actually. Something's wrong, and instead of telling me, Harry just asked me to leave.”

“Ah, mate, that's Harry. He's not good with all that stuff. Give him some time, he'll come ’round.”

Draco shook his head. “It's different this time,” he insisted.

He was startled out if his melancholy by a retching noise and the distinct splash of someone getting sick on the other side of the door to the toilet at the back of Blaise's office. Draco raised an eyebrow at Blaise.

“Ginny,” Blaise said casually, with a slight roll of his eyes.

“Your wife's vomiting in your office toilet, and you can't muster a little more compassion?”

“Oh, I'm used to it at this point.” He shrugged.

“Used to...” Draco trailed off, puzzled.

“Yeah, been like this for a month. But she's getting better, finally.”

“A month?! How awful for her.” Even Draco wasn’t cruel enough to wish a month of vomiting on anyone.

“It's not that big a deal.”

“Merlin's balls, Baise. I would hate to be married to you, you unsympathetic arse. Ginny's obviously ill, and—”

Blaise cut across him. “Ginny's not ill.” He looked confused.

“She's not? But then why's she—”

“She's pregnant. Hang on, you didn't know that? I thought Harry was going to tell you when you went home.”

“We, er, never got that far.” Blaise knew about the fight; better to let him think that was all that happened before Draco left for Hogsmeade.

“Yeah, well, we weren't going to say anything, but it was hard to hide the way she was acting like she'd been sampling the Puking Pastiles in her brothers' shop.”

At that moment, the door to the toilet opened and Ginny exited, looking ashen and shaky. She flopped onto the sofa. After a minute or two, she seemed to have noticed she wasn't alone.

“Oh, hello, Draco,” she said. There was still a slight quaver in her voice. “Wasn't expecting you.”

“He and Harry had a row,” Blaise put in helpfully.

Draco glowered. The last thing he needed was for Ginny to hex him. “Blaise,” he growled.

Ginny put up her hand. “No worries. I'm not in any shape to hex you, even though I know it's your fault.”

“ _My_ fault? How is it my fault?”

Ginny patted his knee. “Oh, please. With your history?”

Draco snorted. “Potter is a psychologically damaged person with a latex kink who listens to angry Muggle music instead of talking to his—whatever-I-am-right-now about his problem.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Blaise and Ginny mouthing, _Latex kink?_  but chose to ignore them. He had forgotten that Ginny was a pureblood and, as such, would not understand the reference any better than Blaise did. “Never mind,” he muttered.

“Well, that does sound like our Harry,” Ginny said. “Just give him a few days. He'll calm down, and then you'll be back home in no time.”

Draco nodded, but he was thinking, _What if that's not what I want? To go back home and pretend everything's okay? Something isn't right, and no one seems to want to tell me what it is_.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't even care that he'd probably made it all messy. If Blaise and Ginny couldn't help him, that only left one option. He decided if he was going to go that route, he would need to sleep on it. Begging Hermione—or persuading her offspring—required a good deal of energy.

“I'm just going to go to my room.” He scowled, daring either of the others to contradict.  When neither of them said anything, he stood up and turned to go.

Just as he reached the door, he heard Ginny say behind him, “Just be careful when you talk to Hermione.  She won't hex you, but if she blames you, when she's through, you may wish she had done.”

Resisting the urge to groan, Draco walked out of the office. Somehow, he managed not to slam the door on his way out, though he did give it one last ferocious glare.  _Damn perceptive friends_.

 

* * *

After a nap, a shower, and a hot meal downstairs, Draco was ready. He headed up the High Street to the other end of town. He hoped to arrive after Hermione but before Ron. He and the youngest male Weasley had made their peace, but Draco still wasn't keen on spending time with him minus the buffer of Harry's company, particularly after they'd been arguing.

He rapped lightly on the door, and a brown-haired, freckled-nosed girl of about ten answered. When she saw who it was, she let out a squeal and gripped Draco tightly about the middle.

“Uncle Draco, what are you doing here? Do you want to see what I made today? It’s a list of all the books in our library, so when I look for new ones, I can tell if we already have them. Hugo had another go at constructing Hogwarts—Mum bought him these Muggle things that snap together when you stack them, so it won't fall apart or get kicked over. She said it was better because he kept accidentally trying to use magic to keep the blocks stacked only he can't do it properly and once it exploded and Dad was _so_ mad. Oh, and last week, I saw Teddy at Madam Puddifoot's, but he wasn't with Victoire...” She kept talking at him, all the while tugging on his arms so that he had no choice but to follow her inside.

A boy a few years younger was situated in the middle of the floor, stacking small, coloured bricks. Draco was intrigued. He'd never seen anything like them. He shook his head. Harry's seamless blending of Muggle and Wizard culture must have affected him more than he'd realised.

“Rosie?” a feminine voice called from the back. “Who's here?”

“It's Uncle Draco, Mum!” Rose answered.

There was a bit of clattering from the other room, and Hermione emerged, still sporting her work robes and stern hairstyle. She stepped expertly around the coloured bricks—which looked like they would rather hurt if one trod on them barefooted—and gave Draco a quick embrace. He would never admit it, even to Harry (or sometimes himself), but he'd grown fond of Hermione.

Without warning, Hermione punched him in the arm—hard.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“The only reason you would ever show up here alone is because something happened between you and Harry. And if something happened, then it's clearly your fault.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you deny it?”

“No. Yes. Well, not usually, but this time I assure you, I’ve done nothing wrong.”

From where she was now sat building with Hugo, Rose looked up. Her eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong with Uncle Harry?”

“No,” Draco tried to reassure her. “We’re just...having a rough time right now, with Tinka having her baby and all.” He tried to look sad enough to earn Hermione's sympathy, but not so much as to worry Rose.

Hermione's expression softened. “Why don't you come in the kitchen for some tea?”

“All right.” He followed her out of the room, secretly congratulating himself. He wasn't an overly emotional person, but if showing it a little got Hermione on his side, so much the better.

Draco sat down, and Hermione rummaged around, finally pulling out the kettle and some cups. While they waited for the water to boil, she took a seat opposite Draco.

“Spill,” she said.

He proceeded to fill her in on the details, skipping over certain more personal parts of the narrative. He concluded, “He won't even ask why I want him to come with me so badly.”

When he was done, Hermione leaned towards him. “You really don't know what's wrong?” she asked.

Draco frowned. “No. I mean, we've argued before about visiting my parents, but not like this. And I know it's probably been a bit much, having to take care of Tinka, but—”

Hermione stopped him. She placed a hand over his. “There's more to it than you think.” She studied him for a long moment. “And there's more you're not telling me, but I think I can guess. I understand, but there's a better way.”

“A better way?”

“I think I know how to help Harry.” She smiled, but it was determined rather than cheerful. “And you, too, maybe. We’re going to need a few others. Do you trust me?”

“I—yes.”

“Good. Do you still write that awful poetry?”

“What?” Draco was indignant. “My poetry isn't—oh, all right. It's dreadful. What does that have to do with it?”

She smirked. “Trust me, you'll need it. Now, here's what we're going to do...”

 

* * *

On Sunday, Draco fidgeted and paced inside Blaise's office. A good number of people, most of them Weasleys, children, or both, were gathered on the other side of the door.

Blaise had put a charm on his door so Draco could see out without being seen. He hadn't spoken to Harry since leaving the previous Tuesday, spending his days away from Hogsmeade in oder to hide from Harry properly. Blaise had wisely suggested carrying out their plan and letting Draco out at the end. He said he preferred not to deal with the spell damage if Harry was still sore.

Draco heard a noise and turned toward the charmed door. He saw Ron arriving with Harry in tow.

“...not sure why we couldn't have gone to the Three Broomsticks,” Harry was saying.

“Just felt like coming in here this time,” Ron answered.

They'd only gotten a short way into the room when Harry stopped short. His mouth hung open. Draco couldn't help smiling at the look of awe on Harry's face.

“What—what is all this?”

Hermione stepped over to him and flung her arms around his neck. If Draco hadn't known better, he might have been a little jealous at their affectionate embrace.

"This," she said, stepping back and gesturing to the assorted people, "is our way of showing you how much you mean to us."

Several Weasley children were arranged in a semi-circle, each holding a piece of parchment.  Behind them, blue hair spiked and earring glinting in the light, stood Teddy, grinning broadly.

"I don't—" Harry started.

"Remember when you promised Gran you'd take care of me?" Teddy asked.

"Of-of course."

"And remember," Hermione said, "when you agreed you'd be Rose and Hugo's godfather?"

"Yes. But what's that got—"

"And Freddie? And Roxanne?" George put it.

"Yes! Will someone please tell me what's going on?"

Teddy stepped forward. "Maybe you don't remember, but Hermione says that in the Muggle world, today they're celebrating something called 'Father's Day'. That's when everyone tells their dads how great they are. You always do so much for us, and we thought maybe it was our turn to tell you how important you are to us. You don’t need to be our dad for that, and we shouldn’t need a special day, but here we are."

One by one, each of the children handed Harry their parchments. It was, Draco knew, an odd assortment of pictures, poems, and a somewhat long essay by Rose on all the things they appreciated. By the time they were through, Hermione was openly crying, Blaise was misty-eyed, and even Ginny looked considerably more serious than usual. Harry’s eyes were red-rimmed, but he was smiling.

Draco took that as his cue. He stepped out of Blaise’s office and walked directly over to Harry. Without a word, he too handed Harry a piece of parchment. On it he’d written,

> You work _con accuratezza_ [with precision]
> 
> You speak _con brio_ [with spirit]
> 
> You love _con somma passione_ [with great passion]
> 
> You fight _con fuoco_ [with fire]
> 
> But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
> 
> And I shall return your love _con anima_ [with feeling]
> 
> For always

Draco stood beside Harry, his wand out. As he read each line aloud over Harry’s shoulder, he tapped the parchment with his wand, and a tiny bit of music floated out. When they had finished, Harry looked up at Draco. This time, he did have tears in his eyes, but his lips were twitching as though he was torn as to how he should respond.

After a minute, he said, “Did you do all this?”

Draco nodded, then lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. “Well, I may have had some help. Erm, except for the poem.” He chose to omit the fact that Hermione had helped him look up the odd musical terms in a Muggle book on her shelf.

“I figured you wrote that one yourself.” Harry folded Draco into a tight embrace. "I'm so, so sorry," He said softly into Draco’s neck. "Please forgive me."

"Of course. I understand now," Draco assured him. “But we should talk about this later.”

"Did you mean what you wrote?" Harry asked, pulling back to look at Draco.

"Every word."

“It was cheesy, even for you,” Harry muttered. Draco swatted him lightly.

Blaise had stepped up alongside them. “You all right, then?”

Draco looked at Harry. “Yes, I think so.”

“Definitely,” Harry agreed.

“Good. Then either order something or leave,” he said, grinning.

As the whole group settled in, spread out across several tables, there was the unmistakable sound of Apparition right next to Draco's right elbow.  He nearly jumped out of his seat.  Glancing over, he saw it was Kreacher.

"Kreacher is sorry to be disturbing Masters at dinner," he said, bowing low. "But Tinka is needing help."

"Tinka?" Harry leaned over to hear better.  "Is she okay?"

"Tinka is being fine, but she is saying the baby is coming and she is being in pain."  His voice quavered.

"Oh. _Oh_. Erm. Kreacher, are you saying she's in labour?"

"Kreacher thinks that is possible, Master Harry."

Harry looked at Draco.  "Oh, God. I have no idea what to do with this. I honestly don't even know how house-elves get pregnant, let alone give birth."

"Well, you see, Harry," Ron interjected, "when a male house-elf and a female house-elf—"

"Ugh. Yes I know that. I meant that I don't want to think about it. And I still don't know the first thing about delivering babies."

"Well, don't look at me. You're supposed to be the big hero around here," Ron said. "Don't they teach you that stuff in Auror training?"

Harry glared at him. For the sake of their newly mended relationship, Draco suppressed a smirk, but he did manage to catch Ron's eye and quirk an eyebrow appreciatively. Ron grinned back.

Draco said, "I'm sure we can find someone, as long as it doesn't have to be me."

"Oh, honestly. I think I know someone who can deliver Tinka's baby," Hermione put in.

Kreacher eyed her suspiciously. "Kreacher doesn't trust—"

"She's helping you. Be quiet," Harry snapped, and Kreacher shut his mouth. "All right, Hermione. Can you bring them and meet us at home?"

"I'll need to go up to Hogwarts. Give me half an hour."

 

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Draco, Harry, Hermione, and Loony—er, Luna—Lovegood were sat around the kitchen table, drinking tea prepared by Kreacher, while Luna's husband delivered Tinka's baby with help from Winky. Apparently, Rolf Scamander was teaching Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts, and Winky's long years of service had given her plenty of experience as a birth attendant.

As Kreacher was under a lot of strain, the tea was substandard, but Draco didn't really mind.  Instead of sipping, he stirred, making light scraping sounds. After several minutes of this, Harry snapped, "Stop that," and Draco dutifully laid the spoon aside.

"You know, I've always wondered what happens to baby house-elves," Hermione mused.

"Typically, they belong to the household of their parents," Draco told her. "I can remember maybe three of ours having babies. I don't know about Kreacher and Tinka's, though. Kreacher belongs to Harry, but Tinka is a free elf working at Hogwarts. She's been living here, but I don't know what it means."

"Perhaps it means she will be able to choose," Hermione suggested.

There was a crash as Kreacher dropped a teacup. "Kreacher is loyal to the house of his mistress and to his master Harry Potter. Kreacher's son will belong to the descendents of the houses of Black and Potter."

There was silence following Kreacher’s outburst, and Harry refused to meet Draco’s gaze. Hermione reached for his hand, but he shook her off.

The tension was broken by a wail from upstairs. Everyone rose from the table at once, but no-one was quite sure what to do. Before they could decide, there was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs and Rolf appeared around the corner.

"Tinka's fine. Healthy baby boy," he said, grinning. "Winky's staying with her." He turned to Kreacher. "She's asking for you. You're supposed to help give the baby a name."

Kreacher didn't hesitate. He Disapparated with a loud crack. Rolf chuckled and sank into an unoccupied chair next to his wife. The others all followed suit and took their places once more.

They talked quietly for a short while, and then Hermione said she ought to be getting home. She bid them an affectionate good night and stepped outside. After looking in on Tinka and the baby (whom they had named Krinky) one last time, Rolf collected Luna from the kitchen and they, too, disappeared into the night.

Draco was alone with Harry for the first time since he'd come home the previous Tuesday. He wished he knew what Harry was thinking, but he didn't want to press. _Fuck it_ , he decided. Not asking was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

"Tell me," he said.

"Hm?" Harry tuned to look at him, almost as though he'd forgotten Draco was there.

"Tell me what you're thinking. It's what I should have asked you nearly a week ago, only I was too busy being an arse. So now I'm asking."

"Nothing much," Harry said, then paused. "No, that's not true. I was thinking about the one thing I'll never be able to have." He let his eyes flick to Draco's face before quickly looking away.

Draco grabbed Harry's hand. "Don't shut me out."

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. "A family. My _own_ family." He still refused to look at Draco, but at least now he was speaking.

"You want children.”

Harry nodded. “Yes.”

A sudden flash of memory came to Draco of that day, almost two years before, when Harry had stood in the field watching Ginny holding Percy’s infant daughter. Back then, Draco had wondered if Harry regretted not marrying her. He thought he understood.

“This was never about visiting my parents, was it?”

“No. I never knew my dad, yeah? So I always figured I'd make up for that by having a family of my own. I tried to bury it, but first Tinka and then Ginny—especially Ginny—and it all came rushing back. I guess I let myself think that as long as we didn’t make this too real, maybe I’d have a way to have it after all, someday. I guess I did, though, in a way, with all those kids and now you. But it's not the same."

"It’s not the same as having them in our house, every day, and being the ones to decide how we’ll raise them.”

“Right. I—” Harry looked up. “ _Our_ house? How _we’ll_ raise them?” His voice was thick with hope.

Draco reached up to touch Harry’s face. “I want to have them. Children, I mean.”

“Do you?” Harry sounded surprised.

“I do. I was surprised to find that I quite like them, noisy and messy though they may be.” He looked straight at Harry and said, “I want to have a baby with you.”

Harry stared for a moment. Then he did the last thing Draco was expecting: he laughed.

"You do realise that even wizards haven't yet figured out how to make men pregnant, right?"

Draco huffed. "Of course I know that. What I mean is that whatever it takes, I want us to be a family. I want to have a houseful of children, however we make that happen." He stood up and walked around the table to pull Harry from his chair.

Harry laid one hand on Draco's shoulder and ran the other one lightly down his cheek to rest it on his neck. He hissed three of the four words Draco had learnt to recognise, and it sent shivers down Draco's spine. " _I love you_."

"I love you, too." Draco leaned in to press his lips against Harry's, and the kiss felt like coming home; this was where he belonged. He seized the moment, drawing Harry closer. They remained that way for some time, going from tender kisses to moving against each other, heat building between them.

When they separated, breathing raggedly, Draco whispered, "Just because I can't make you pregnant doesn't mean I don't want to—" He leaned in to whisper in Harry's ear, and then he reached down to apply gentle pressure to the front of Harry's trousers. He was pleased to note Harry was already hard.

"Bedroom," Harry gasped.

They clattered up the stairs and half fell into their room. Draco kicked the door shut and grabbed for Harry, pulling him into another long kiss.

"What about the house-elves?" Harry muttered around Draco's lips.

"They're fine. Winky's with them. Now, do shut up so we can get on with it."

They tugged at each other's clothes until nothing remained and made their way to the bed with hardly a pause in their kisses. They tumbled down onto the mattress, trying to touch each other everywhere.

While Draco ran his palm softly along Harry's erection, Harry reached into the bedside table for what they needed.

"Wait," Draco said.

Harry paused, his hand still in the drawer. "What?"

"I want—I want to do this without a condom."

Harry withdrew his hand and sat up. "You know how I feel about that."

Draco shook his head. "I don't mean a charm, either."

Understanding dawned on Harry's face. "I don't know..." He trailed off.

"We've been together for nearly two years."

"But we never agreed to be—"

Draco cut across him. "No, we didn't. But I made a promise to be safe, and I've kept it." He felt his face heating up. "Besides, I've not been with anyone but you in...a long time."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You haven't?"

"No. Have you?" He gave Harry a pointed look.

Harry shook his head. "Not for ages."

"Then please trust me."

Harry placed his hands on Draco's arms. "I do trust you." He nodded. "All right." He reached into the drawer once more and produced a small jar, which he set on the pillow.

They took their time, touching and moving against each other until they were both gasping and desperate for more.

Harry turned onto his stomach, but Draco said, "No. I want to see you." He gently rolled Harry back over.

Draco settled between Harry's parted legs and ran his hand from Harry's neck down to his hip and back up. He rocked his hips so that they brushed against one another, drawing a soft groan from Harry.

"Please," Harry urged. "I need you."

That was all the persuasion Draco required. He grabbed the jar and handed it to Harry, who was all too happy to oblige and applied the contents liberally to Draco's cock. Draco manoeuvered so he could position himself properly. He slid in slowly, pausing to caress the inside of Harry's thigh. At last he was fully seated and he began to move.

The sensation was almost more than Draco could bear. It had been years since he'd been inside anyone without charms, potions, or latex between them. He'd forgotten what it felt like. He wondered if it was just the lack of barrier or if it was the fact that it was Harry, willing to trust him, that had him on the edge so quickly.

Draco kept his eyes open, watching Harry come undone. His eyes were closed and his head back, his body arching slightly off the bed as he thrust back. He had his hand wrapped around himself, lightly stroking.

"Do it," Draco murmured, knowing Harry would understand what he wanted.

Harry let out a string of unintelligible hissing, in the midst of which Draco heard his name. He let go, thrusting with abandon until his movements became erratic as his climax drew near. The orgasm ripped through him, causing him to lose track of everything else, his body trembling and his vision blank.

As he floated back to awareness, he registered Harry's quiet grunts as he increased the speed of his hand. Draco stilled him and replaced Harry's hand with his own, stroking with what he knew to be just the right amount of pressure until, with a long, low moan, Harry surrendered, splattering his stomach and Draco's fingers.

They lay there for a few moments until their breathing slowed. Draco withdrew and flopped down next to Harry. They kissed lazily, and Draco ran his hand lightly up and down Harry's arm.

After they had cleaned themselves up, Draco settled himself against Harry. Harry stroked the fine, blond hairs that lay on Draco's forehead. He cleared his throat, and Draco twisted slightly to look at him.

“I suppose if we’re going to have kids, we ought to think about getting married, yeah?” Harry said.

Fighting a smile, Draco said, “I suppose so, yes.” Hermione had been right after all. A casual agreement was better than making a production over it at his parents' home, and it was certainly a pleasant surprise having it be Harry’s idea.

They didn’t say another word. Draco let himself float sleepily away, knowing that the dreams he would have of their future together needn’t stay only in his own imagination.


End file.
